


On the Edge

by Clocketpatch



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Cliffhangers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Spoilers, Season/Series 02, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's brilliant plan went sideways, they didn't get what they came for, the Liberator wouldn't respond, and a squad of Federation troopers chased them through the night... what else could possibly go wrong?</p><p>Takes place in s.2 after Redemption</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fulfilled Stranded/Survival Situations on my H/C bingo card

The cleft in the cliff provided a temporary respite from the trooper's fire, but it wouldn't last. The troopers were already making their way up the slope towards it. The rain and darkness worked in Avon and Blake's defence, but discovery was an inevitability which Avon had no desire to face.

He crouched, alone, at the entrance of the crevasse with his weapon at the ready. The rain that concealed the cave also made the approaching troopers annoyingly difficult to spot. Avon could hear them shouting and laying down random fire as they approached. Unsubtle, but there was a chance that one of those stray bolts might find its way into the cave. A chance that increased exponentially with each passing minute –

The path which Blake and Avon had fled up had no other destination. If it weren't for the storm and the treacherous terrain they would already be staring down the barrel of Federation-issue riffles.

"Vila," Avon tried into his bracelet. No answer. Still out of range. Damn.

The troopers were getting closer. Avon had seen the flashback from the last round of fire. If they came much closer, he would have to make the choice between a probably futile last stand or shuffling into the inky blackness at the back of the cave. Blake had left into the narrow passage nearly an hour earlier, without Avon's permission or consent, and taken the only decent source of light with him. Avon changed the communications channel on his bracelet.

"Blake, come in." Nothing. Avon gritted his teeth and continued watching the rain.

The communicators had failed to work through rock in the past and Avon preferred that explanation to grim imaginings of cave-ins, sudden drop-offs, and peckish local fauna. If he left the cave entrance unguarded there was a high probability that the troopers would bomb and seal it off. It was simple logic: even if they had no proof that Avon and Blake had escaped into the tunnel, sealing it would either destroy a potential hiding place or leave them stranded, starving, and no longer a Federation problem. Avon had heard the rumbling echoes of other charges being planted as the troopers searched.

There hadn't been any explosion for some minutes. Nor had there been any thunder. The storm wasn't nearly so intense as it had been when Blake had left. When it ended, the troopers would be able to move forward that much faster. Avon considered attempting to raise Blake again, but no, the idiot would either reappear or he would die, suffocating under tons of hard earth and there was nothing Avon could do to speed either outcome.

A few minutes later, he heard heavy breathing approaching from behind and turned briefly to see the dim silhouette of Blake emerging from the depths of the rock before turning his attention back to defending the entrance.

"You didn't get stuck," Avon commented dryly.

"The rock interfered with the communicator," Blake said, "I couldn't receive any messages."

Avon's back stiffened. "What makes you think I sent any?"

Blake worked his way to the cave entrance and peered out down the slope, leaving his front dangerously exposed to random fire. The rain flatted his dark curls. He was scraped and dirty from his spelunking. One of his ridiculously broad sleeves was half torn off. The remnant of his shirt was clingy from the damp.

"There's a way out," Blake said.

"Then why are we still here?" Avon asked, "In a very short while, this vicinity will be becoming distinctly unfriendly."

Blake nodded slowly, then laughed. "I agree."

He held an open hand back towards Avon. In the centre of Blake's palm sat the re-wired laser probe he'd been using to explore in lieu of a proper torch. Avon looked at it, and then at Blake.

"This doesn't need repairs – yet." The mechanism was jury-rigged and would fail eventually, but the wires were still relatively corrosion free.

"You're going to lead," Blake said.

Avon resented being backed into corners. Blake knew where he was going, Avon didn't, and this action of what Blake would probably label "trust" was all too clearly contrived to force Avon into giving the, "but I don't know the way" response that Blake's ego so clearly craved.

"Pull your head back inside before it gets blown off," Avon snarled.

"I always thought you'd find that an improvement," Blake said, still with the insufferable smile.

Avon holstered his weapon and took the probe. He turned it on to examine the route Blake had taken. The increased shouting from outside told him that the light had not gone unnoticed. Avon damned himself for being incautious. He'd known they were close; he hadn't thought they were that close.

"I'm getting out of here," Avon said, edging his way into the tunnel. It was a tight squeeze and Avon found himself wondering how the bigger man had fit. "Are you coming?"

"Right behind you," said Blake with far more amiability than the situation warranted.

Avon didn't understand what the man found so humorous about being shot at and forced to retreat down a narrow crack that felt increasingly to Avon like a trap.

"Good," said Avon.

"I'm glad you think so."

Avon smiled to himself in the dark. "When they open fire, you'll be hit first."

\- / - / -

Twenty minutes later, Avon emerged into the open air with a new found hatred of caves, rock formations, and enclosed spaces in general. He was bruised, sore, cold, and the end result of Blake's so-called escape route did little to improve his mood.

It was a ledge, barely a yard thick and maybe three along. At the edge, the ground slid away in a steep drop to meet the overly sharp-looking valley floor six hundred feet down. Avon suddenly understood the irony that Blake had found so amusing.

"Didn't want me behind you on a cliff, did you?"

Blake ignored Avon and tried to raise the Liberator on his bracelet. No luck.

"On the bright side," Blake said, "the rain has stopped."

It had, and the night was warmer in the bargain. Some kind of aurorae had started up across the sky and was providing a shifting, multicolored light. If Avon were sentimental, he'd call it beautiful; instead he saw it for what it was: extra light for their enemies to see by, and therefore a disadvantage.

"And on the downside, we are perched on the edge of oblivion with no further options. There is a squadron of Federation troopers behind us, and, in all probability, now that the storm has ceded they will have contacted air support to search on this side of the mountain for our exit point. We are dead, Blake."

"Don't be overly optimistic."

"Additionally, the Liberator has been out of station for two hours longer than originally planned. We cannot hope for rescue. We cannot go forward. We cannot go back."

"I never thought you would accept defeat so easily."

Avon unholstered his weapon. "Not easily."

Blake slipped past Avon to stand by the edge. He gazed downward. There was a look on his face that Avon didn't like.

"We can go forward."

"Don't be precipitous, Blake."

"Do you see a better solution?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Blake started gnawing his knuckle and pacing, forcing Avon's back up against the rock wall.

"We will, of course, we totally exposed," said Avon.

"We're exposed here," Blake said, with irrefutable logic.

"We can mount a defence here."

"It would be a pointless gesture."

"Lucky for me then that I have a companion who is well versed in exercising pointless actions in defence of lost causes."

"Are you frightened, Avon?"

"I have no intention of committing suicide."

"And if I go first?"

"Would you risk letting me behind you?"

"Aren't I already?" Blake asked, arms spread wide. Avon felt the sturdy bulk of the mountain behind his shoulders. There was nothing behind Blake but a vast expanse of hazy stars and flickering atmospheric lights.

"Fine," said Avon, keeping his defeat in as brief and clipped a syllable as possible. He didn't put away his weapon, keeping it loose and ready in his hand. The troopers had been close behind them in the tunnels, but had evidently taken a wrong fork in the dark. It would not be long before they discovered and corrected their mistake.

Blake crouched, turned, and gingerly began searching for toe-holds. Just as he'd found one and was moving his hands down for a lower grip both their communicators went off with a loud burst of static. Blake lost his grip and started to slide.

Avon dived forward and grabbed Blake's wrist. The strain shot up Avon's arm, wrenching at his shoulder.

"Blake? Avon?" Vila asked, his voice obscured by interference, "Come in Blake and Avon."

"Teleport!" Avon gritted. The uneven ledge pressed painfully against his diaphragm. He wasn't weak, but he had no illusions about his ability to hold Blake for any extended period of time. Blake, for his part, was kicking around searching for a new foothold.

"Stay still!" Avon yelled at Blake.

"I can't... cutting in and out..." Vila said, "Atmospheric disturbance… Zen says it will be unstable again in… Jenna is pulling back... Blake? Avon? Do you copy?"

"Teleport. Now! Vila!" Avon shouted. He was a computer tech. Years of repetitive work had left him with weaker wrists than he would care to admit. His fingers were cramping and Blake was slipping through them. Avon told himself that he was doing everything possible, that he would not feel guilt when Blake dropped; that he would not be alive long enough to indulge in guilt in any meaningful way.

"TELEPORT!" Blake roared.

"Copy. Teleporting now."

The warm buzzing surrounded them and they reappeared sprawled across the teleport bay floor, hand in hand. Vila raised an eyebrow. Avon carefully disentangled himself from Blake and stood, wiping his hand on his tunic.

"Jenna, they're up," Vila said into the intercom.

Avon felt the vibrations underfoot as the Liberator pulled out of orbit.

"Did you get the part?" Vila asked. Avon gave him a withering look.

"Next time," Blake said, brushing himself off, "will be more sucessful."

"Next time," Avon said, "I will let you fall."

 


End file.
